Amber and Clay by Laura Schlitz (easy books to read TXT) 📗

The stables at Brauron were not elaborate. There was an open shed where the goats were milked and a three-sided shelter for the donkeys. There was also a barn with four stalls, reserved for the mounts of honored priests or patrons. Melisto leaned over the top rail of the largest stall. The contrast between the brilliant sunlight and the dimness of the stall baffled her eyes. Her first idea was that Elpis had gotten it wrong: the prisoner in the barn was not a bear, but a child. A shadowy, shaggy-haired boy stood with his head bent and his arms curled inward. Her mind flashed to Arkadios and the brother whose birth she feared. In an instant, she conceived that in some unseen world there was a brother she might be able to love.

She blinked. The naked boy took a step and fell backward, landing on his bottom. He uttered a cry of discontent, a raven-like screech from the back of his throat. The noise was animal, not human, and all at once Melisto realized that she was seeing the bear. It was not at all like a cat or a pig. It was and was not human. It sat on its rump with its back legs splayed. The back paws had five toes and leathery soles that tapered into heels.

The bear lifted its snout. Melisto caught the liquid spark in its eyes. The bear’s face was not human, but it was indisputably a face. It wore an expression she could not decipher. They stared at each other.

As Melisto’s eyes adjusted, she saw the cub wore a rope harness, looped tight around the neck, crossed between the front legs, and knotted over the shoulder hump. A chain through the knot connected the harness to a post. The stable floor was littered with a broken bowl and a sack of rough wool. A bucket of water had been knocked over.

The bear rolled its eyes at her. Melisto swung her legs over the top rail of the stall door and jumped down. The bear rose up, snuffling. It studied her with intense curiosity, but without fear or rancor. Then it dropped on all fours and circled her. Melisto squatted, stretching out her hands. Reason warned her that the bear might attack, but she was ruled by desire, not reason. She felt the bear’s rough fur and inhaled the ripe, gourd-like smell of its body.

The bear’s reaction was immediate and forthright. It let out a noise that Melisto chose to interpret as friendly. She watched its nostrils flare as it tasted her scent. A long tongue swept out of its mouth and found a patch on her dress where she had spilled a bowl of porridge that morning.

“You’re hungry,” Melisto murmured. Her mind went ahead to the bread she would steal from the kitchen, the cheese curds, the roots she could dig in the woods. The bear set one paw on her thigh — she winced as the claws sank in — and began to lick the stain. Its tongue looked too big to fit inside its mouth. Melisto stuck out her own tongue and examined it cross-eyed. Her tongue was the same color as the bear’s.

The bear leaned in, determined to extract every atom of flavor from the wool of her tunic. The weight from the paw was painful. Melisto set both hands on the bear’s shoulder and rocked it away from her. The bear lost its balance and skidded sideways. It rolled over and bounced back. Melisto gave it a tentative shove. The bear raised a paw and smacked it against her forearm. They were playing. Both of them understood this at once.

The bear played rough. Melisto was too fascinated to mind. She wrestled and tumbled, shoving the bear onto its back. The cub was far smaller than she was, but its strength more than matched her own. The babyish roundness of its body was deceptive. The bear was swift and agile and tireless. It climbed on top of her, mouthing her, rooting at her dress and pawing at her hair. One claw left parallel scratches across her collarbone. Melisto gave a cry and sprang to her feet, claiming the advantage of height. The bear wheeled around, springing from its muscular hindquarters. It squealed: one back paw was caught in the chain. At once Melisto was on her knees. She pushed the bear sideways to gain slack and lifted the paw free. The bear whuffed, plopped down on its rump, and regarded her intently.

“Melisto!” Korinna’s voice was sharp. “Come out at once!”

Melisto obeyed. The bear cub started to follow, but the chain yanked it back. Melisto felt a pang, but she climbed over the rail. She stood before Korinna with her head bowed in submission.

“Did no one tell you it was forbidden to go into the stall?”

Korinna had never spoken to her like that. Melisto confessed in one word. “Elpis.”

“Why did you disobey?”

Melisto faltered: “Some god put it in my heart to go inside.” She dared not look up. Never in her life had she defended herself by suggesting that her behavior had been inspired by a god. If it were true, no one could blame her. If she were lying — and she didn’t know whether she was or not — it was blasphemy, and the gods would punish her.

Korinna did not answer right away. Melisto stared at her feet. The silence was so protracted that she was able to study every one of her dirty toes.

“It isn’t safe,” Korinna said at last. “Perhaps now, when the cub is young — but it won’t stay safe. I don’t know much about bears — I’ve never seen one before today — but the hunters claim they’re the strongest of all animals, and they can’t be tamed. It’s a dangerous gift. I gave my orders, and you ought to have followed them.”

“I know.”

Korinna seemed to have forgotten Melisto. She gazed